The World Is You
by L.V.Owl
Summary: To say the least, I was beyond shocked to suddenly find myself fifty years in the past, and even more so to realize that it wasn't my earth's past, but that of a comic book's. With nothing more than a pinch of lunacy and a heaping of desperation, I decided to look up the only person whom I thought could help me get home. Charles/OC
1. No Turning Back

AN: I couldn't get this idea out of my head so I decided to write it out. I'm nowhere near happy with this but I have this weird urge to get it out there so it's over and done with. Don't know if I should continue. I have some ideas for the future but it's up to the reader's response if I should write more. This is my first time writing the_ X-Men: First Class_ characters so let me know if they seem OOC or anything. Cheers!

Summary: To say the least, I was beyond shocked to suddenly find myself fifty years in the past, and even more so to realize that it wasn't _my_ earth's past, but that of a comic book's. With nothing more than a pinch of lunacy and a heaping of desperation, I decided to look up the only person whom I thought could help me get home. "Do you think Xavier's in the phone book…?" Charles/OC

* * *

**The World is You**

Chapter One: No Turning Back

It may sound like a total cliché but if I had known that morning what was going to take place, I'd have stayed in bed all day, watching soaps and crappy talk shows. But of course, I didn't know and therefore no precautionary measures were taken, assuming the sanctity of my apartment would have stopped… whatever the hell it was. I just went about my day like any other Uni student during finals week: reluctantly and full of dread.

I had to drag myself out of bed, having pulled an all-nighter finishing papers and studying (staring at my notes and telling myself that I'll pass). My lethargy in making breakfast (aka: toast) and sitting at the kitchen table for a half hour doing nothing but 'waking up' made me incredibly behind schedule. And so, I found myself running out the door with my hair in a giant knot on my head and my shoes mismatched—one was a sneaker and the other a faux leather creeper. Hey, I was in a rush! At least they were both black; if I were lucky everyone will be too worried about failing the exam to notice.

If only I had known that making an ass out of myself would soon be the least of my worries…

I made it to a crosswalk, waiting as anxiously as possible for the light to change. C'mon, c'mon. I had about—I checked my phone—twenty minutes to get to NYU's campus. I could do it if I power-walked. I had before. In lesser time. I'd be fine. Get to class out of breath and a little sweaty but hey, I'd make it.

And I'd pass. I reminded myself that I only need a C to pass HIS2000. Only a C. Only a C. You can totally wing it and get a C.

The light changed green, indicating for us pedestrians to cross, and I was quickly pushed along by the throng of hurried people. A horn blared, jarring me from my thoughts. I turned to look at a man in a FedEx truck, middle aged and angry. He shouted something out his window, making a 'get the hell out of the road' gesture with his hand.

I rolled my eyes and carried on. Damn impatient driver.

When my foot touched the sidewalk, I looked at my phone again. Nineteen minutes til class. Could I go for coffee? My answer was an immediate 'yes'. I pulled my friend Nikki up on my phone contacts, making to text her.

_Hey. Meet me for a coffee?_

Send.

She'd agree. Nikki couldn't pass up a good coffee, or the cute guy that worked at the Dunkin Donuts. After he'd written 'Have an awesome day' on her receipt a week ago, she'd been convinced he liked her.

My phone beeped and I glanced at it with a frown.

_Message Failed._

What?

I had no reception. Great. I had full bars just a few moments ago! I saw it when I checked the time! I growled in annoyance, holding my cell over my head in the hopes that I'd see a bar magically appear.

"Watch where you're going!" a man muttered, crashing into me."Stupid kid."

Kid? I'm a goddamn adult with an almost Bachelor's Degree!

I turned and glared at his retreating form, giving up on my phone. Rude.

"Yeah, you too, pal!" I shouted at the guy, already down the block. He glanced over his shoulder to shoot me a disapproving look through his thick glasses. It struck me as odd. The jerk was young and admittedly kind of handsome, but those bug-eyed horn rims made him look so out of place. Like he was from one of those old sitcoms.

And then, since my eyes weren't glued to the screen of my cell, I noticed just how odd _everyone_ looked. I had to stop just to stare and wonder. Everyone's clothes were so outdated—high-waisted pants, shirts tucked in, bright colors, horrific patterns… _vests_. And don't even get me started on the hair.

Was there some kind of a weird protest going on? Or an event? I remembered one time where all these people suddenly took off their pants on the subway and pretended like they weren't in only their underwear. But there was no organization to the masses. They didn't seem to be in a group or heading to a gig. They were just going about their business.

Are they filming a movie here or something? No, there're no cameras. Well, not that I can see.

As unsettled as I felt, I managed to shrug it off, or at least ignore the people. Until the Dunkin Donuts disappeared. Not literally but, well, kind of. I stood where it should have been, about a block from NYU, but instead was a small diner. A really retro looking diner.

In that moment, I seriously considered just going back to my apartment and telling the teacher I was sick. But I just wanted to cure my caffine fix and be done with school. So, I stuck out the weirdness and headed inside.

A bell dinged. Oh my god, it was even weirder inside. They had a _jukebox_. Like a proper-looking one, not one of those cheap replicas. Despite my better judgment, I peeked inside it and to my surprise, found mostly songs I'd never heard of. Okay, I get it. It's a 60's themed diner, but how the hell do you do the 60's without The Beatles in your jukebox?

I went up to the counter, and hopped onto a bar stool.

"What can I get you?" asked a waiter in white.

"Coffee, please. Cream and sugar."

He nodded and turned away. A family and a few other people were seated in booths, just as strange as the people outside. The waiter set a white cup and saucer in front of me.

"Thanks."

I sipped it carefully as it was steaming but ended up burning my tongue anyway. I hissed in pain, setting the cup down.

"Careful, I make 'em hot," he said.

Too late.

"Yeah, I noticed," I replied. I took a smaller sip this time.

Light conversation and the drone of a TV filled the silence. I cleared my throat. "So… don't like The Beatles?" I asked, thumbing at the jukebox.

"Who?"

"The Beatles," I laughed. "The band…?"

The waiter snorted. "Never heard of them."

My brows furrowed. But, fan or not, everyone's at least _heard_ of The Beatles... I started to get the feeling that I was in the middle of an elaborate prank. Seriously, have I been set up on one of those TV shows? Is Nikki behind all this? Or Ted?

I leaned on the counter, deciding to watch the TV mounted in the corner of the room. It was black and white, of course.

_"… no reports have been made as of yet, but tensions between the United States and the Soviet Union have only grown stronger. It seems the attempts at…"_

Oh, I know this!. That's from the Cold War, holy crap! Geez, this diner went all out on the historically accurate aspect. What a small world; we covered Cold War in HIS2000. Hope that isn't on the final. Oh fuck. My final! I quickly checked my phone—two minutes! What the fuck! Oh my god!

"Uh, sir. Can I have the bill?"

"You need a bill for a coffee?" he asked dryly.

I sighed. "Fine. What do I owe you?" I asked, digging out my wallet.

"Fifteen cents."

I looked up at him, incredulously. "_Fifteen cents?_"

"Hey, you don't like our prices, you can go somewhere else," he said defensively. "Won't find a ten cent joint in ten blocks."

I blinked. Was he serious?

Final. Right. Whatever. I handed him a one dollar bill. "Keep the change," I called, jumping off the stool to leave.

"Hey, hey! Whoa, what is this?"

I whipped around to glare at him. I'm going to be late! "What?"

"I said, 'What is this?'" the waiter asked again, holding up my dollar.

I shook my head. "A buck. I said you could keep the change."

"This ain't no American dollar," the waiter huffed, coming out from behind the counter. "What is this? A counterfeit?"

"No! Are you nuts?"

"Are you a counterfeiter?"

"No!"

"Is there a problem, sir?" asked a customer, standing from his seat.

"Yeah! This broad's giving me fake money!"

"It isn't fake! Look, I don't have time for this crap," I growled, turning away.

"Oh, no you don't!" the waiter huffed, trying to grab my arm.

"Don't touch me!" I shouted, jerking away.

"Do you want me to call the police?" the customer asked.

"Yeah. There's a pay phone right over there. You a communist?"

"I-"

My heart was hammering. This wasn't acting. These people weren't joking.

Thier voices turned to white noise. I turned and ran, the bell sounding loudly, drowned out by the waiter's shouts. "Stop her! She didn't pay!"

"She's a counterfeiter!"

"She might be a spy!"

Oh my god! Oh my god!

Were they chasing me? I didn't dare look back. Was I safe? I kept going until I was out of breath and sure no one was after me. I crouched in an alley (not my brightest idea) to try and regain my composure.

"What the hell is going on?" I panted.

It was like I was in the Twilight Zone!

There was no way this was real. It couldn't be! I was- I was in- It's scary how quickly my mind gave up on logic, or at least that my logic seemed, well, illogical. My only rational explanation was that I suddenly time traveled. Somehow. Without knowing it. I kept slipping into denial, clinging to desperate notions of this all being a giant prank. This couldn't be real.

I checked my phone. No signal.

I felt like Marty McFly. Only without a clue or someone to help explain shit to me.

Stay calm, Viv. Just stay calm.

Time travel isn't possible. There must be some explanation. There must be.

Even then, I didn't quite believe myself.

I stood and let my hair down, hoping that it'd be enough of a change in my appearence to keep anyone from the diner from recognizing me. After smoothing down my fringe, I left the alley, glancing around nervously.

Calm. Calm is key.

NYU. I don't know why I kept heading to school but it seemed like if I held onto my routine, things would work themselves out. But they didn't.

I felt like an alien. Or a fish in a shark tank. All of these people scared me, going about their lives, not knowing how bizarre they were, not know that they shouldn't be here, walking around like this was possible. These aren't actors.

"I'm in the sixties," I told myself, trying to make light of it before I royally freaked out. "I time traveled but I'll be fine. You know, maybe I haven't even woken up. Maybe I'm still sleeping and my alarm's about to go off... Any minute now."

Please, wake up.

The campus loomed in front of me, offering only a minimal amount of comfort. Sure, the building was familiar. But everything else about it was foreign and unsettling. I ambled through the halls, undisturbed. I was surprised that people couldn't tell how out of place I was in my dark denim jeans, blue top and mismatched shoes. I felt like there should be a neon sign over my head reading: 'not one of us'.

I approached my classroom slowly, watching the professor lecture. Not my professor. Not my class.

I stared, feeling dread creep over me. Not my school. Not my time.

"Can I help you, miss?"

The professor was watching me. I was just lurking outside the doorway. I shook my head. "No," I replied quietly. "I don't think anyone can…"

I retreated to the university library, the high cavernous room acting as a safety bubble. I sat at a table, head in my hands, trying not to think.I wanted to melt into the books so I wouldn't have to deal with this and make choices. I just wanted to sit here forever and not worry about the world outside. But I knew I couldn't live in here. Or even loiter for too long. They'll find out I'm not a student. Oh shit, I'm not even a legal citizen. My social security number isn't valid. My driver's license, state ID: all void. I didn't exist.

I didn't exist.

I should have just skipped class. I pinched the bridge of my nose. I should have stayed in bed and been a lazy bum.

How?

How could this have happened? _When_ did it happen? I'm sure everything had been normal when I left my apartment. The people seemed normal. I think. I crossed the street, the guy bumped into me. No, even then it was weird. He was weird. What happened before that? Was there a clue before him?

My phone…

I noticed the signal went dead when I crossed the street. That must have been when it happened. But that makes no sense! How does crossing a street make me go back—what? _Fifty years? _It had happened so quickly and subtly, I hadn't even noticed the switch. I simply crossed the busy New York street and by the time I reached the other side, I was _very_ far from home.

"I'm so screwed."

Two guys sat at the end of my table, talking excitedly. They looked like nerds. Well, sixties nerds, I guess. I ignored them as they got louder.

How easy is it to fake an identity? It cant be that… Oh, hell, I'm screwed. I really am. I'm smack in the middle of the Cold War without an identity! They'll think I'm a Soviet spy for fuck's sake!

I groaned.

Please, wake up!

My head hit the table as I let myself wallow.

"…And I personally think the theory's spot on. I always said there's other life forms, maybe extraterrestrials but, you know—"

"Are you pulling my leg? The guy's crazy."

"Crazy? I'll have you know, Josh, that people thought Einstein was crazy and he's the greatest mind the world's ever seen!"

"Man, don't talk to me about Einstein… I live and breathe Einstein," said the other guy. "But this limey dude?"

"Hey! Be fair."

"I _am_ being fair."

"No, you're not. You're not. Mark my words, Xavier is the next Einstein. You heard it here first."

"Oh, come off it."

"I won't come off it. I'm going to find a good picture of Prof. Charles Xavier and hang it in our dorm."

"On _your_ side."

"Right next to Einstein."

"No, way. Next to Galileo, maybe."

Wait. I lifted my head, the gears whirring in my mind. I turned to look at the boys. "Did you say Charles Xavier...?"

My voice made them both stop. They shared a glance and a giddy smirk. Great, ones that aren't used to female interaction.

"Yeah?"

I jumped up and was beside them. "_The_ Charles Xavier? As in the ...mutant?"

"You've heard about his theory on mutations?" the one asked excitedly, not hearing me right.

"Uh, yeah. Right. You mean… he's... real?"

"I… don't understand."

I stood straighter. What the hell…? He couldn't be the same Charles Xavier from… from the comics. This couldn't be happening… Time travel, I could deal with—not really. But this… _What even was this?_ Have I been sucked into a comic book?

"Are you okay?"

"Huh?"

"Are you okay?"

I nodded, dumbly.

Please, wake up now!

"Uh… I think… I need to find him."

"Who?"

"Professor X…avier," I coughed. "Xavier."

"Why do you need to find him?"

"Business," I said quickly. "Do you think he's in the phone book…?"

The more talkative of the two answered. "Unlisted. But I know where he lives," he said proudly. "Had to go through a few back doors..."

His friend shot him a look.

"What? I've sent him a few hypotheses…"

"Where does he live?"

"Here, let me look," he said, flipping through a copybook. I saw newspaper clippings and scribbled notes. I stopped him, my eyes catching an image. My fingers grazed the newspaper article, trailing across the picture. It was him. Good god, it was him. A black and white photo of him in a graduation robe and cap.

"Just like the movie…" I whispered.

"That's him leaving Oxford," the guy explained. "Not too long ago, actually."

My shoulders slumped. "He's in England, then?"

"Don't think so. Not anymore, I think… I don't stalk his whereabouts or anything though! I'm not obsessed!" he said defensively.

"Of course not," I dismissed. "You were getting me his address?"

"Right. Here we go," he said, pointing to his scribbled writing. _1407 Graymalkin Lane, __Salem Center__._

"Salem…? That's not in Massachusetts, is it?"

"Wha? No! That's _North_ Salem. Here in New York," he explained. "Up in Westchester?"

"Westchester! That's like seventy miles away! How the hell do I get there?"

"Do you drive?"

"Don't have a car…"

"Oh…."

"It's really that important you see him?" asked the other guy who had been silent until now.

I looked at him somberly. I couldn't explain it, but knowing that Charles Xavier existed gave me hope. I knew him. Well, knew of him. And that was more than I could say about creating an identity in the 60's. Yeah, he was a total stranger but he was my best chance."Yeah… It is…"

He reached into his pocket and laid a card on the table. "Take my bus pass, then. It expires in a few days but it should get you to Westchester."

I slid it off the table, and held onto it for dear life. "Thank you," I told him sincerely. "I'm Vivian, by the way."

"I'm Mickey."

"Josh."

* * *

The rocking of the bus lulled my body into a trance, but my mind stayed alert. I couldn't grasp what was happening. I couldn't bring myself to accept this bizarre and impossible turn of events. I woke up for finals and walked into a comic book. Or something like that. I think it was the subtly that really got me. There was no swirling vortex of doom or bright light or tricked out Delorean. I just casually slipped into another universe.

Things could have been worse, I suppose. I could have ended up somewhere more dangerous (as if a country under threat of a nuclear attack was _safe_). Okay, I could have ended up in a place where I had absolutely no clue of what was happening. I was fairly familiar with the _X-Men_, Nikki having gotten me into it when the first movie came out. Granted, I wasn't an expert, but I had enough trivia stored away. I hope.

All I knew was if anyone could help me, it had to be Prof X. He was basically the Gandalf of the Marvel world, right? Well. He was smart and science-y. He could whip up a time machine or… Alright. It was a total stab in the dark. But honestly, I couldn't think of anyone else to go to. And was too terrified to think up a Plan B should this not work out.

This was my forth bus in almost two hours, and my butt was sleeping. I pulled a crumbled piece of paper out of my pocket, on it was written the address of the X-mansion. I feel pretentious calling it that.

The squeal of brakes made me groan as the bus slowed. I was more than halfway there but the last bit was all on foot. And my legs were dead. I sighed and got off, along with three other people, at a place called Purdy's. I started down a long road, a very _very_ long road that I was supposed to follow the rest of the way. I tried not to think about how much I had left to go. I had to have been walking for an hour. My legs were tired and my pace had slowed considerably. I was surrounded on both sides by trees and could hear the feint sound of water. There was supposed to be a reservoir close by.

The sound of a motor crept up behind me. I glanced back to see a mint green station wagon. I continued walking, stepping onto the grass, to get out of its way.

"Hey," called a woman's voice.

I turned back around to find a young blonde leaning out of the driver's window. Her hair flipped up at the ends in a single wave and the pink lips were spread in a smile. She stopped the car beside me. "Where you heading?"

"North Salem," I said automatically, then pulled out the crumbled paper from my pocket. "Uh, Greymalkin Lane?"

"Oh, you're in Salem now, hun," she replied. "But you've got a long way to go."

"I know…"

"Want a lift?"

My legs, had they mouths would have shouted out before I could manage. "Yes, please!"

She laughed, leaning over to unlock the passenger door. "Hop in."

I plopped onto the fuzzy seat cover and the second my knees bent, I felt relief.

"Name's Carolyn," the woman smiled.

"Vivian."

She wore a pair of baggy pants, orange with pink designs, and a white blouse. It was gag-worthy but I was too grateful to judge her fashion. Hell, my clothes were probably plain and ugly to her!

"You're so lost, aren't you?" she said to me, not looking away from the road.

"How can you tell?" I drawled.

Carolyn gave a short laugh. "That lost look in your eye."

Did I _really_ look that helpless?

"So, what brings you up here? You look like a city girl to me."

"It's… complicated."

"A _man_," Carolyn grinned, knowingly.

I snorted.

"I'm right though," she said. "What's his name? You can tell a lot about a person from their name. Like you. Vivian says to me… passionate. And wild."

_Riiight._

I decided to humor her. She _was_ saving me two hours of walking. "His name's Charles."

"_Charles_," she repeated. "What about Charlie?"

"No… I don't think so. Just Charles."

"Hm. You know what that says to me? _Sunflowers_."

"Sunflowers…?"

"Mhm. When I hear the name Charles, I see sunflowers in a grassy meadow… under a warm sun."

"Uh…huh."

Tiny patters of rain hit the windshield and roof. Perfect.

"Vivian and Charles. I like how your names flow. There's an energy between them. Like two rivers merging to form a beautiful ocean..." Carolyn looked at me with a sly grin. "If you know what I mean."

"It's not like that."

"Is he a doctor? A lot of doctors up here. And farmers."

"He's… a professor," I sighed.

"Mmm, an older man."

"He's not that much older than me… I think."

"Nothing wrong with that. It's all about love, sweetie."

"No, really. There's nothing romantic between us. I've never even met him."

"Oh? Charles must be special for you to go all this way just to see him."

I looked out the window at the passing trees and the raindrops rolling down the glass. "You've no idea…"

Carolyn grinned at my reflection.

The sky was darkening by the time we stopped at Graymalkin Lane. "Sorry, I don't have an umbrella. You okay from here?"

"Yeah. This is great. Thanks again, Carolyn."

"No problem, babe. Give your Charles a kiss from me."

I didn't respond, simply waving as she drove off, leaving me standing along a dirt road. As I headed down the lane, as my luck would have it, the rain started to pick up. Great. Petrichor filled my nostrils with each breath, the soothing smell trying to counteract my bad nerves. When I reached the gates at 1407, it was full out storming, thunder rumbling and quick flashes of lightning. It was like an omen of my arrival. I stood at the iron gates for moment, uncaring about being pelted with rain and wind. At the top of the gates was a twisted 'X', and on the wall to the side was a plaque which read: _Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters._

This is really happening.

My stomach was in knots as I pushed open the gates, surprised that they weren't locked. Each step was an effort, as fight or flight raged within me. And it was a winding stretch of a driveway, of course, giving me all the needed time to freak myself out.

Oh, what was I doing?

To say I was soaked was a gross understatement. After god knows how long I'd been walking, my hair and clothes had surpassed the capacity to absorb any more water. Had it not been for my stubborn refusal to abandon my bag, I'd have tossed it away and been pounds lighter. But no, instead, I hobbled on, stumbling under the weight of not only my wet clothes but also the impending sense of fear.

I was alone in every sense of the word. And it frightened me.

What if they turned me away?

What if _they_ aren't the X-Men at all and this is all some weird mistake? I'd be totally screwed.

What do I even say to him? Oh, hi, I come from the future, but not _your_ future. I'm from an entirely different universe. I come in peace.

I groaned.

Wing it. As always, I can wing it.

Finally, through the darkness of the overcast evening, I saw it: Xavier's mansion. It was gorgeous but its wealth and power only made me uneasy. I stared up at the darkened windows as I approached, trying to see if I saw anyone. I didn't. When, I reached the front doors, I simply stood there, unmoving. I couldn't bring myself to knock yet I berated my cowardice. I didn't come all this way for nothing! I _had_ to knock!

What if he couldn't help me?

What if he didn't believe me…?

I leaned against the wall, the wind sending the rain sideways to meet me. Just knock!

God, he's a telepath, he probably already knows I'm out here, making a fool of myself! I stomped my foot. Fine. With that thought and to spare myself further humiliation, I wrung out the worst of the water from my hair, raised my fist, and knocked.

I waited.

There was no reply. It couldn't be that late… only—I checked my phone—5:42 PM. Maybe my knock was too soft? It was a _huge_ place, after all. Maybe I should just go while I have the chance...? No. There's no turning back now.

I knocked again, louder.

What if he was still in England? Or somewhere else? Like recruiting people? Crap. Oh my god, what if I came all this way to be stuck outside like a hobo? Maybe I could break in? Oh, yeah, break into a house full of mutants, real smart. I never should have gotten out of bed!

The door opened. Light flooded the porch and momentarily blinded me, having grown used to the dark of night. Then my vision cleared and I focused on the man in the doorway.

"Can I help you?" he asked gruffly, sounding as if he'd hope I'd say 'no'.

My stomach squirmed, looking up at an irritated-looking Erik Lehnsherr. _Not_ who I was expecting.

I took a step back, trying to compose myself. "I'm looking for Charles Xavier?" I said, my voice sounding distant and uncertain.

He didn't budge, eying me in all my soppy wet glory. "And you would be…?"

"Someone about to catch pneumonia," I replied, unable to stop the hostile tone in my voice. Exhaustion and anxiety were wearing on me. "Can I see him?"

When he didn't move, I sighed. "_Please_. It's really important."

Erik paused before finally stepping aside. I was aware of him staring at me as he shut the door. The locks clicked into place; I didn't see him reach for them. Erik half circled me, looking more like a bird of prey assessing if it could snatch a pidgeon from the air. He was on guard. Alright, I _was_ suspicious; I'll give him that. Arriving in the middle of a thunder storm like something from a Gothic novel. And why the hell did I refer to myself as a pidgeon?

"This way," he instructed, going on ahead of me into a parlor.

"Erik?" came another man's voice, one that I recnognized. "Who is it you have with you?" he asked before I even stepped into the room. And when I did, Charles' gaze fell on me from over the chessboard. I froze.

"She didn't say," Erik replied, shooting me a glance. "She wanted _you_."

"Charles Xavier," he said, standing and offering me a hand which I took; it was much warmer than mine.

"Yeah. I know who you are," I replied, with a shaky smile.

His brows furrowed, looking thoughtful. "Yes, of course."

"I'm Vivian Brooks."

He gave me a cordial smile, though concern was still in his startlingly blue eyes. "What can I do for you, Miss Brooks?"

I stared at him, completely at a loss for words. "I don't know."

Charles frowned. "Why did you wish to see me?"

I stupidly felt like crying. But I didn't. I shook my head.

The men shared a meaningful look, before Charles gently took my arm. "Here, why don't you sit by the fire? You're freezing."

He led me over to a couch, and offered me a blanket. I wrapped it around my shoulders, feeling guilty for dripping all over his house.

Charles sat across from me and Erik off to the side, watching us from a distance. He made me uneasy. I could tell he already didn't trust me, or like me, for the matter. I saw Charles follow my gaze.

"We'll be fine, Erik," he told his friend. "Thank you."

The pair of them locked eyes for a moment longer than normal, and I imagined they were exchanging thoughts. Then the moment broke and Erik pursed his lips, leaving us without another word and shutting the parlor doors. I felt lighter after his leaving. I never really had it out for Magneto but I had to admit, he was damn intimidating.

"Tell me what's troubling you," Charles said softly, and that small encouragement was all I needed. Everything just came pouring out of me in a mess of words.

"I'm sorry I didn't know where to go o-or what to do. I just—you're the only person I could think of who could help or really the only person I know! Well, I don't know you, exactly, but uh I sort of do—"

"Miss Brooks, please calm down."

"_Vivian_."

"Vivian," Charles corrected. "I want to help you, but you must tell me how," he said, bringing a hand to the side of his face, fingers grazing his temple.

His fingers grazing his temple?

"Whoa!" I cried, leaping up and startling him. "The hell are you doing?!"

He looked at me with wide eyes. "Sorry?"

"You were doing the thing…!"

Charles stood as well. "What thing?"

"The mind thing!"

His eyes narrowed slightly, and I realized that may not have been the best thing to let slip. Charles stared, his mouth agape. "Who are you…?"

I looked at him and felt like crumbling. Oh, hell. I had nothing left to lose. There was no turning back now. I shrugged and answered as honestly as I could, "Someone very lost…"


	2. A Matter of Trust

AN: I'm so blown away by all of your support! I really can't believe it's gotten such a positive feedback! Seventeen reviews on one chapter? I've never gotten that many! Thank you all so much for reviewing, favoriting and following! It's seriously got this chapter written quicker.

Now, not to whine, but again, I'm not too happy about this chapter. It's so strange! Like writing during writer's block and everything just seems wrong. Maybe I'm just being critical, idk. But if you lot have any suggestions, I'd be open to them! Cheers!

* * *

Chapter Two: A Matter of Trust

I felt myself shaking those next few moments of silence as Charles Xavier regarded me carefully. His eyes were cautious and undeniably curious, but the crease in his forehead told me that he wasn't about to take my accidental revelation lightly. I was more than a shaking drowned rat that turned up on his doorstep.

I had knowledge.

And that made me dangerous.

The more he was silent, the more I feared he was using his powers. I had never thought of his character as particularly frightening before, but standing before him at my most vulnerable, knowing the extent of what he was capable of… it made me afraid. I wasn't an ally in his eyes, but a potential threat. I was a walking stash of secrets, _his_ secrets and everyone else's he held dear. I hugged myself out of nervousness, as if I could block out his telepathy should he use it.

"Please, don't read my mind," I said in a small voice.

Charles' lips pressed together. "Why shouldn't I?" he tested.

"Because I'm asking you not to… Please?"

He sighed. "I need answers, Miss Brooks."

Me too.

"I know. And I'll tell you," I added quickly, watching him purse his lips in thought. "Just give me a chance to…"

He considered me then nodded stiffly, gesturing to the couch. "Sit."

I did as he asked, hoping to stay on his good side. Besides, I think I needed to sit down for this conversation more than him.

Charles sat back in his armchair, across the table from me. "I won't read your thoughts, like you asked, but I _will_ know if you're lying," he warned. "Go on then, here's your chance."

I squirmed under his blue gaze, unable to keep eye contact for more than a few seconds. I was at a loss for words. What do I say? What if he doesn't believe me? What if –

"Miss Brooks?" he pressed, trying to keep his patience.

I blinked, trying to clear my watery eyes. I let out a dry laugh, "I don't even know how to begin."

"Then, I'll start for you," Charles said tersely. "How do you know about me?"

"I just do."

"You just do?" he repeated, raising a brow. "Forgive me if I find that hard to believe."

"Was I lying…?" I asked him. "You said you'd know if I was lying. Was I?"

Charles stared deep into my eyes, searching for any indication of deception. He blinked. "What else do you know?" he inquired.

I hesitated. "Everything."

He didn't seem to like my answer much, as indicated by his brows knitting together. "You're not a telepath… Are you working with Shaw?"

"No!" I cried, a little too quickly and way too loudly.

He sat up straighter in response to my outburst. I just couldn't help but be overly suspicious, could I? "But you do know him," he stated.

"I know _of_ him," I admitted. "Like how I knew of you. And Erik. And…" I sighed, "Look. I know I'm being really vague and unhelpful but—"

"Perhaps you could try _not_ being vague and unhelpful," he offered wryly.

I sighed again. "I would, but it's just…"

"_Just_…?"

I looked at him, dejectedly. "_Complicated_," I finished.

Charles looked almost amused, much to my surprise. "Miss Brooks, as I'm _sure_ you already know, I have three Ph.D.'s from Oxford University in Genetics, Biophysics, and Psychology… I _think_ I can handle 'complicated'."

Oh, getting a little cocky, are we? "I don't expect you to believe me but… if you'd at least trust me? Like trust that I'm not here to hurt anyone or…"

He regarded me with a thin smile. "Go on, Miss Brooks," he urged.

"Alright…" How do I start…? The way it started, I guess. "Well, I was born February 14th… 1990."

At first it seemed as if he hadn't heard me, or hadn't quite registered what I had said. And then his brows met slowly and his expression floundered. "Sorry, you said you… you were born in 19…_90_?"

I nodded, trying to gauge his reaction. "_Yeah_…"

He chuckled slightly, covering his mouth to hide it when he saw, or felt, my annoyance. "Is that really the story you're going with?"

"It's not a story!" I defended. "You _know_ it isn't! You _know_ I'm telling the truth!"

"I afraid I don't, Miss Brooks. You believe you're telling the truth, _that_ is all I know," Charles told me. "It seems you are either incredibly deluded or an _exceptional_ liar."

I ran a hand through my fringe in frustration. Sure, I had expected this kind of reaction, but it didn't hurt any less. He's the only one who can help me. How do I convince him? How do I prove myself?

Charles gave me a wary look. "Are you… or have you ever taken hallucinogenic drugs?"

"What?!"

"Or psychological medications…?"

"No! I'm not a druggie, Jesus Chrrr—look, I know I sound crazy!"

"You do?" he asked, raising his brows. "Well, that's good in any case. The mentally unstable are normally not aware of it."

"_Great_," I said through my teeth. That really helped my situations loads…! How can I—and then it hit me. "Oh! Hold on!" I exclaimed, unzipping my bag and taking out my wallet. I pulled my driver's license and handed it to him, smugly. "_There_. What do you make of that?"

Charles kept his eyes on me a moment longer, before looking down at the ID. He shrugged. "A creative forgery?" he sighed. "Am I to assume this is what driver's licenses look like in… when were you from?"

"2014…" I muttered.

"Ah, _right_, I should have known. Mismatched footwear is a huge trend in 2014," he said with a smirk which fell as soon as I hung my head. "Miss Brooks, I'm sorry."

I glanced at him and he _did_ look apologetic.

"I understand that you're upset, and afraid," Charles said tentatively. "But you can't expect me to believe such an outrageous story." He offered a sympathetic smile, coaxing me to agree, but I looked away. "Besides," he went on, "Even if what you said is true, why would you think I'm qualified to handle such an… _incident_."

"Because!"—He quirked an eyebrow at me—"Because you're _you_."

"Well, I won't argue that."

I stared at the red and yellow carpet, the swirls in the pattern by my feet, darkened by the rain still dripping from my jeans. I heard Charles sigh.

"Would you care to explain how you knew about my ability? Or does that relate to… to your being from the future?" he asked, humoring me.

"Not exactly…"

Charles waited expectantly for me to explain.

"Alright, fine. Fine! You already think I'm nuts, I might as well go all the way!"

"I never said—"

"I'm not just _from the future_," I interrupted, deciding to just plow ahead before I could chicken out. "I'm also from another universe, or, uh, another reality or something, I'm not really sure. But where I come from there are no mutants or people with abilities or, or, anything interesting like that! Where I come from, you and everyone else in this universe are from a work of fiction!"

He stared, perhaps even more incredulously than before.

I doubted I'd get him to listen to me again after this, so I took it as 'all or nothing' and continued, "There were comic books all about you and other mutants and stuff and, and, film adaptations! And the actors looked just like you guys! Kind of weird, actually; I don't know why that happened. Might just be a giant coincidence, I dunno. But anyway, that's how I knew about you! And I thought that maybe you could help me get home or figure out what happened and I know you don't believe me and I don't blame you, really; if I were in your shoes, I'd probably not believe me either, but I don't know what to do and I wish this were all some really realistic and stress induced dream brought on by my horrific finals exams but I really don't think it is!"

"Miss Brooks, please—"

"I can't calm down!" I cried, jumping to my feet. "Just because you don't believe me, doesn't mean it isn't real! Because it is! And I'm so beyond screwed! Get your CIA girlfriend to look me up, check my prints—she won't find anything because I don't exist here! I literally do not exist! I was never born! I never lived anywhere! I'm probably going to end up in jail for being a communist, or something, which I'm not! Or, or a friggin' hobo! Oh my god! I'm such dead meat. I got lost on vacation last year at the beach, and I couldn't find our hotel and I almost got mugged on the first day! The first day! I'm not going to make it here!"

I slammed back down onto the couch with a groan, lying on my back to wallow. "I should've just skipped class," I moaned, my hands covering my face as a few hot tears came from nowhere. My wet clothes were cold against my skin, adding to my discomfort. "Fuck my life."

Two gentle hands brought mine from my face so that I was looking at Charles, kneeling beside the couch. "I don't know what to make of your story, Miss Brooks, but I do want to help you," he said softly, and I believed him. "If you'll allow it, I could search your memories to make sense of what you've told me."

I shot up into a sitting position, looking at him with wide eyes. "You… want to get inside my head?" I squeaked, scooting farther away. "No way! You said you wouldn't!"

"You asked me to trust you, yes?"

I stared, "Yeah…"

"Now, I'm asking you to trust me."

Oh, that wasn't fair. It _was_, but it so wasn't.

"I… But there's some things you shouldn't see… like the future. _Your_ future. I mean, that could mess up the timeline and stuff," I said, trying to backtrack out of it. "Besides, there's personal memories and such. I don't need you or anyone digging around in my head!"

His blue eyes held mine, as he still knelt in front of me. "You realize I don't have to ask permission," he told me softly. "Whatever knowledge you have about me could endanger not only myself but my close friends. I can't let that happen."

My nails dug into the couch's soft fabric. I leaned as far back into the cushions as I could, trying to distance myself from the telepath as much as possible. Like it would make a difference.

"You said you wouldn't…" was my lame reply.

He could sense how afraid I was, how desperate I was, how I was contemplating kicking him in the chest and making for the door.

"Miss Brooks, you came here for my help. Now, let me help you."

I faltered under his intense gaze, unable to look at him. Don't cry. Don't cry.

"I don't want to invade your mind, but if you want me to believe your story, you have to prove it," Charles said.

"But _how?_"

"The only proof you have is your memories, yes?"

I slowly nodded.

"I need you to show me. Think of whichever memories will help me understand," he said.

"And that's… that's all you'll see? Only what I'm thinking of…?"

"That's right. If your mind strays to something you don't want me to see, tell me to stop and I will," he reassured. "You have to trust me, Miss Brooks."

I pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to stop the dam of tears. I had to trust him, didn't I? I could trust him. I knew I could. He wasn't a bad person. He didn't _have_ to ask me.

"Will it hurt…?" I asked meekly.

Charles broke out into a small smile. "Not a bit. Just relax, and focus on your memories," he said, putting his fingers to his temple.

"Wait, I'm not ready!" I blurted out, and he lowered his hand.

What memories would prove myself? The time period should be easier, I mean, my whole life was in the nineties and later. And as for the _X-Men_…? Well, it might be risky to show him certain things, like relating to future events. Right? Maybe something that's happened previously, that not many people would know about…?

"Okay," I said finally. "Let's get this over with."

Charles concentrated, looking beyond my eyes and into my mind. I didn't feel anything drastically different. There was just suddenly an odd presence in my head, like… like an unfinished thought. Or when you try to recall a dream and its almost there but you can't make sense of it. It was him.

Okay, focus.

I shut my eyes, unable to think when he was staring at me so intensely. My early memories were too faulty; I needed something more recent.

_There were vague flashes of the millennium celebration, the year 2000, special M&M's, a collector's Barbie doll, talk of the end of the world_.

Nonsense. I needed something better, something more concrete.

High School graduation—I was the class of 2008.

_I was standing in front of a mirror in my blue robe, trying to fix the matching cap. My dark brown hair had been curled and styled but pinning and unpinning the cap had made all my work a bit of a mess. Annoyance was bubbling in my gut as I glared at my reflection._

Whoa! It was like I was actually experiencing it all over again! The dismay and irritation. The nervousness and the uncomfortable tights I had on. It was like I was really there! It was so vivid and-

"Miss Brooks, you must remain calm," I heard Charles say. Was he speaking aloud, or in my head? I couldn't tell. "This is all normal. Remember what happens next."

I took a deep breath. What came next? Oh…

_I sighed in frustration, turning to the open door. "Mom!" I called. "I can't get this right!"_

"_What is it?" my mother answered, heels clicking into the room._

"_The stupid hat," I sighed. "It doesn't sit right. It's all… floopy."_

_My mother laughed. "Hun, you have to wear it. It looks fine."_

"_I look stupid."_

"_Well, you'll look silly if you're the only one in your class without a cap."_

_I snorted._

"_Now, get your purse, hun. We have to leave soon," she said, walking out into the hall. "Is your camera charged?"_

"_Yes…"_

"_And you have your yearbook?"_

"_I'm not bringing my yearbook," I moaned. "I don't care if anyone signs it."_

"_Just bring it, Vi."_

_I sighed._

No, I need to speed it up.

_I was sitting awkwardly on the stage, amid the crowd of honors students. My hands were sweaty as the principle called off the names of students. I hoped I didn't trip on my way up for the diploma._

This wasn't important though.

"You control this memory," Charles said. "Show me only what you mean to."

_I sat on the stage. But instead of taking notice of the faces in the audience, picking out my mom's subtle wave to me, I turned my head, looking upward at the banner strung over our heads. It read: Congratulations Class of 2008!_

_Cheering. Tossing of hats. Relief. I hadn't tripped. Mom hugging me._

"_I'm so proud of you, baby."_

This wasn't good enough, was it?

_I was waiting in a long ass line that encircled the Barnes and Noble at least twice. I'd been there for hours, and hours, waiting excitedly. Oh, yes. It was the eve of a Potter book release—a very important day for me. It was for The Deathly Hallows. July 21, 2007._

Oh, that could do it. Not just snippets of days, but proof that I had lived all those _years_. I couldn't fake all those memories, all of my useless trivia from books and shows and movies. So, then I dove headfirst into them. I couldn't make them all up. That had to be proof—those details, those fragments of stored information. I threw them all at Charles, unsure if they even made sense to him.

_'Mr. and Mrs_. _Dursley, of number four Privet Drive_,_ were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much.' Magic. Wizards. Harry Potter. Scar. Voldemort. Horcrux. Sirius Black. Brightest witch of her age. Polyjuice Potion. 'When they say every flavor, they mean every flavor!' Hogwarts. Gryffindor. Ravenclaw. Hufflepuff. 'Funny, the __damage__ a __silly little__ book can do, especially within the __hands of a silly little girl_.' _Salazar Slytherin. The Locket. Mermaids. Nargles. Dark mark. 'Neither can live while the other survives.' Cupboard under the stairs. 'I open at the close.' R.A.B. 'Constant vigilance!' 'Barty Crouch… Junior!'_

"Vivian…"

'_Allons-y!' TARDIS. Junkyard. Flute. Three.. Scarf. Celery. Funny coat. Umbrella. Eight. Leather jacket. Tight pants. Bow-tie. Time And Reletive Dimension in Space. Daleks. 'We're all stories in the end.' Sonic screwdriver. Raxicoricofallapatorius.'Moisturize me!' Vote Saxon. 'Care for a jelly baby?_' _Doctor Who? Bad wolf._

'_The lone wolf dies but the pack survives.' _

'_You mean to say that you're a daughter of Eve?'_ _'Well, my mum's name is Helen...' 'Y-yes, but you are in fact… human?'_

'_Why is a raven like a writing desk?' _

_One ring to rule them all, one ring to find them._

'_Logic clearly dictates that the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the—"_

"Be calm."

There was a rush of silence, and I became aware of a hand on the side of my face. My heart was beating quickly and my breathing uneven.

"Miss Brooks, your mind is racing too quickly," Charles told me.

"Did you get any of that, though…?" I breathed, the inside of my eyelids black.

"It was hard to make sense of but, yes, most of it," he assured. "I admit, that is a great deal of information to have conjured up on the spot—impossible, in fact."

I opened my eyes. "So you believe me?" I asked, hopefully.

He sighed, standing and sitting on the couch, beside me. "I'm afraid it isn't that simple."

"Then what will it take?"

"Maybe… historical events could validate your claim."

"Like… presidents and stuff?"

"Something along those lines. Although," he paused. "It may be wise to keep the dates vague…"

My eyes lit up. He may have been humoring me, but it seemed as if he wasn't as against believing me as before. But still, mutant or not, he was a professor and he needed hard evidence.

"I'm ready."

_Sitting in the living room, watching the news. On the screen were reports on Hurricane Katrina. It showed all the damage done, the people's losses._

_In a voter's booth, debating. Biting my lip. The ballad. McCain vs. Obama._

_Pluto reclassified as a Dwarf planet. The bastards._

_Nikki in my arms, sobbing. We're huddled on her bed as she cries. Her brother died, was killed in the World Trade Center attacks. There was so much ash and debris. I remember looking at the memorial. The empty space where the towers had stood. It was surreal and looked wrong. New York was never the same._

"_He can't be gone," she said to me, so many times. "He can't be. He can't be."_

_War. Terrorists. So much death and loss. A nation mourning. The US was never the same. _

"_How could he leave me, Viv? How could he leave me?"_

_I was crying with her. My best friend was never the same._

"Stop," I said, and the images immediately ceased.

When I opened my eyes, I found tears on my cheeks, still warm against my cold skin. To my surprise, Charles was also wiping his eyes which were tinged pink.

"I'm sorry you had to relive that, Vivian," he said gently. "And I'm very sorry it ever happened."

"It's okay," I sniffed, trying to shake off the ache of sadness. "It was years ago. It's in the past."

"I thought it was the future," Charles remarked with a small smirk.

My eyes went wide. "You believe me…?"

He scratched the back of his head. "As amazing as your story sounds, yes. You've had no reason to lie and your memories were authentic enough to confirm it."

I grinned, "Seriously?"

"_Seriously_. There only remains the matter of your information on me that we need to discuss," Charles went on, getting more comfortable on the couch by tucking one leg under him. "Had you said that we were friends in the future, I may have accepted that. But another universe…?"

"Do the mind share-y thing again," I told him confidently. "I think I know how to convince you."

"You have another of your memories in mind?" he asked.

"No," I smirked. "I have one of _yours_."

Charles blinked, eying me confusedly. His face fell into seriousness as he again lifted two fingers to his temple.

_Young Charles Xavier lay in his bed, a picture of Einstein by his bedside. He was awakened by a noise downstairs and tiptoed in his blue and white striped pajamas__, a baseball bat in hand. Upon entering the kitchen, he dropped his stance. "Mother, what're you—I thought you were a burglar!"_

"_Oh, look! You have heterochomia too," said a pretty blonde._

"_Sorry, what?"_

"_Look at her eye."_

_Raven smiled, one of her eyes golden._

_Charles cleared his throat. "Right," he said stiffly, "Raven, get your coat."_

"_Please, sit down, Agent MacTaggert," Charles said calmly. Suits around him. Special meeting. "I didn't expect you to believe me, given that all you could think about during my presentation was what sort of pie they were serving in the commissary... It's apple pecan."_

"_Let go! You have to let go!"_

_Nearly drowning._

"_I thought I was alone."_

"_You're not alone. Erik, you're not alone."_

_Cerebro. Everywhere at once. _

_So many people. So many mutants._

"That's enough."

It was Charles who pulled back first. His chest was heaving when I opened my eyes. "That was… that was incredible," he panted. "It's like you were there, seeing everything, even moments where I thought I was alone. Intimate moments."

"I'm sorry, I—I didn't know you were actually real when I was watching the films, you know?" I tried to explain. I couldn't help but feel guilty for intruding on his life. In more than one way. "I didn't know any of it was real."

"No, no, don't be sorry," Charles waved away. "How could you have known? Besides, I've seen some of your memories; it's only fair."

It still didn't feel that way.

"You've seen everything… You know how everything ends don't you?" he questioned, already knowing the answer, I expect.

"Depends on how you define 'everything'…"

He ran a hand through his hair. "To be honest, I'm having a difficult time absorbing all of this," he confessed.

"Join the club," I snorted.

He half-smiled in return. "Another universe running parallel to ours… and having the history of our earth at its fingertips… It sounds like something out of science-fiction."

"That's actually pretty accurate."

"You realize the implications this has, Vivian?" Charles asked, inclining his head. "The knowledge you have could determine the outcome of future events and potentially re-write history, for better or worse… It's a terrible responsibility, and I must ask you to take it seriously. You cannot let slip any amount of information."

I found myself smiling. "I won't. I just want to get home…"

"I know you do, and I promise, I'll help you however I can."

"But you've no idea."

"To say the least, no."

At least he's honest...

"Well," he began, standing up, "It's obvious we aren't going to solve this dilemma overnight, so we might as well find you a room and some dry clothes. Sound good?"

"You're letting me stay?" I asked, excitedly.

"I thought that was obvious?" he smirked.

"And, for the record, you officially believe me… about everything?"

"For the record, _yes_."

Charles offered me a hand and pulled me to my feet. "We'll be sure to talk more thoroughly in the morning. Until then, try to rest. I'm sure you're tired, to say the least."

I smiled at his back, as he opened the parlor doors. I was so right in coming to him. Anyone else in the world would've sent me off to the loony bin, and although he may have been close to reaching for the phone, he gave me a chance. That Charles Xavier, he's a good dude.

We strolled out to find Erik still in the entrance hall, leaning against the railing. Upon seeing us, he pushed himself off, his eyes alert and questioning.

"Erik," Charles nodded to him. "Vivian's going to be staying with us for awhile."

This seemed to alarm him, as he strode over to meet us, looking between me and Charles like we were mad. He leaned closer to his friend. "Are you sure that's a good idea? Given everything that's _going on_ here," he said tightly, trying to be as discreet as possible about the 'mutant business'.

"Given what Vivian and I have discussed, it would be wise to keep her with us," Charles explained, ushering me upstairs.

"For how long?" Erik asked, climbing a few steps alongside us.

Charles cast an exhausted look over his shoulder. "For…" he glanced at me, thinking, "For the foreseeable future." When Erik's confused expression only increased, Charles sighed. "I'll fill you in later. Trust me, my friend, this is for the best."

Erik fell back, despite being obviously unsatisfied with his answer. I let Charles lead me up the rest of the staircase, his hand on the small of my back. And in spite of my better judgment, I glanced back at Erik to find him watching me closely. I tried to smile, to relieve some of the tension between us, but his hard gaze remained.

Fine.

We turned left down a hall, one side lined with tall curtained windows then down a corridor to the right where the hall forked. We came to a wooden door which he held open for me. I waited as he switched on the lights.

"I hope this is satisfactory?"

"Are you kidding? I wouldn't complain if I had to sleep in a bathtub."

He smiled. "You should find some of my sister's old clothes in the dressers. She tends to use the whole house as a closet."

"Raven won't mind?"

He paused, perhaps at my use of her name. "I'm sure she won't. Now, for the time being, we should probably keep your story between us," he said carefully, watching my face for understanding.

"Us… and Erik?" I questioned, recalling his earlier promise to fill him in.

He nodded. "I think it would be best, yes."

"Alright, but… what do I say?" I shrugged. "I doubt anyone would believe I'm your long lost American cousin who was recently orphaned."

Charles chuckled at that. "No, I don't believe they would," he agreed. "I was thinking of something a little less farfetched."

"Like…?"

He shrugged. "You're a mutant, come to seek refuge here. Erik and I talked to you before about joining us, you refused but now suddenly had a change of heart," he made up, casually, as if he had planned out my alibi ages ago.

"That's great and all but you're forgetting one thing:_ I'm not a mutant_. I can't even do a cartwheel!"

"Your powers haven't manifested yet," he said simply.

I rolled my eyes. "This'll never work, you know."

"It'll work long enough."

I crossed my arms. "If you say so…"

We stared, him in the doorway and me a few feet into the room. I shuffled my feet.

He cleared his throat. "Well! I'll leave you to get settled in…"

"Okay!"

Charles stepped back and I stepped up to shut the door.

"Oh, one last thing," he added, looking at me curiously. "When you were searching your memories… why were you picturing me with goat legs?"

Oh shit. Mr. Tumnus.

"Uhhh, well, I wasn't."

"That _wasn't_ my likeness with goat legs?" he asked, raising a brow.

"_No_, it was an actor with your likeness playing a faun with your likeness… it was from a movie."

"Right."

"_Yeah_."

He managed to keep a straight face. "Well, goodnight, Vivian," he said, retreating to the hall.

"Night," I returned, waiting for his nod before shutting the door. On a second thought, I threw it back open; he had barely moved. "Oh, and Charles...?" I added, "Thank you."

It was odd, using his name, and associating it with a real actual person. A person whom I've met and talked with and was trusting with my life. Charles Xavier. And you know, as silly as it sounds, I keep picturing sunflowers.


End file.
